


A Memory Of The Smell of Smoke

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: A Gamble At Terrible Odds [1]
Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: ASPD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Backstory, Campbell has mild ASPD, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Denial of Feelings, Drugged Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Baggage, Family Issues, Feelings Realization, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Multi, Partying, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Romantic Friendship, Substance Abuse, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, and is self aware enough to try and be better, didn't add an official warning because it is the aftermath only, the non-con is NOT Campbell, yes it is the party becca mentioned and there will be a warning in the notes of that chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: Everyone liked to pretend that Campbell had been born bad. That their fear and hatred were logical, rational, justified, because Campbell was a monster incapable of making the choice between good and evil. Because he couldn't feel the way they did. Well, fuck that. He was gonna prove them wrong.At least, that had been the plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Knowing what I know of personality disorders and my own personal experiences, this is an attempt to write a canon divergent storyline for Campbell, using a slightly more realistic take on conduct disorder and ASPD instead of slapping on Hollywood "psychopath" stereotypes. While young people with conduct disorder can be violent and abusive, the diagnosis does exist on a spectrum, and neither ASPD nor "psychopathy" should be diagnosed before the age of 18; this is one thing that rubbed me the wrong way on The Society. I wanted an antagonist who's threat lay in the fact that they are calculating, ambitious, and ruthless-- not just "crazy". Hopefully I can succeed in presenting a more understandable and slightly less sensationalized vision of how-and-why he behaves. Please note that I have no intention of making him a violent abuser, not in an attempt to "woobie" him, but to bring his character more in line with my experiences of how an emotionally neglected child/teen with moderately reduced empathy would behave, provided they were actively attempting to help themselves.
> 
> Tl;dr I just wanted to make Campbell less needlessly shitty, because it makes me feel better as a person, and because I wanted one (1) antagonist who isn't just an evil, horrible abuser with a scary mental illness.
> 
> [Head on over to tumblr](https://wroughtbetwixtfanfic.tumblr.com/) to learn more about my writing. :) Thank you for reading, and leaving kudos/comments. <3

Campbell could barely remember life before Sam.  
  
The few memories he had were just bits and pieces, and nothing worth remembering. His parents leaving him with his Aunt Amanda, Uncle Jim, and cousin Cassandra while they went on a business trip or to some fancy vacation. Being scolded for crying too loud in the grocery store. In the kitchen of their big fancy house, reaching for his mother to pick him up, and standing there alone as she walked away. _Later, sweetie. Some other time, dear. Mommy's busy, Campbell._ It was always the same thing, and it only got worse when his mother got pregnant again.  
  
_Your mother's tired_ , his father would say. _She needs to rest._  
  
Not that his father ever made time, either. He was important, and often harassing some poor fuck in the community with Uncle Rogers. Campbell didn't know what to do, so he would cry and scream until finally one of them would pay enough attention to yell back. Sometimes they would grab his wrist and drag him to his room for time out. He just always was too much for them, too stressful for them, too demanding, too clingy, too emotional. A bitter irony, he thought when he was older and looking back, remembering what it was like to feel that deeply. He'd been robbed of that, before he'd even known how to vocalize it.  
  
When Sam was born, they gave him to Campbell to hold. Campbell looked down at his baby brother. He was so small. So fragile. _Don't you love him_ , his parents asked. Campbell didn't reply, and his parents laughed it off and teased him for being jealous. He didn't know what that word meant, not at the time. All he knew was that he was standing at the edge of his family, watching something he wasn't allowed to be a part of, even if he didn't understand why. He did discover that if he held Sam close, if he was gentle with Sam and kissed his forehead and smiled at him, their parents would smile, too. Their parents would coo and hold Campbell, too. They would sing to them both, read to them both.  
  
At first, he thought maybe he could do it. Even if he didn't feel as warm towards Sam in the way his cousin Cassandra seemed to feel towards her little sister, Allie, Campbell liked Sam alright. Campbell knew he could be a good boy, a good brother, and his parents would love him. For the first two years of Sam's life, things did seem like they were improving. Sam gurgled at him and followed him everywhere, and babies were kinda gross but Campbell accepted that. At least he felt like maybe he had a friend. It didn't matter that Sam spent more time with their parents than him, and that their parents looked at Sam in a way they never looked at Campbell. Campbell still felt less alone.  
  
... At first.  
  
But then one night, when Sam was three and Campbell was five, their parents shook Campbell awake in the middle of the night. He tried to ask what was happening, but his parents just shouted at him to stop asking questions. There were sirens outside. Campbell saw their mother rush by his bedroom, with Sam in her arms. He looked strange. Limp. Campbell tried to follow, but their father grabbed his arm and yanked him a different direction. Their Uncle Jim was there, and he loaded Campbell into his car and drove him to their home.  
  
Cassandra was awake when they arrived. She took Campbell's hand and led him to the room she shared with her sister. At least there, it was quiet. They sat together on Cassandra's bed, silent and staring off into space. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, it was light outside and Cassandra was holding him in her arms.  
  
"What's goin' on?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Where's Sammy?"  
  
"It's bad," she said, in that matter-of-fact voice of hers. "Sam is in the hospital."  
  
Campbell wiggled out of her embrace and padded out to the kitchen, where Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jim stood, faces pale. "What happened?" he demanded, frowning when the adults shared a look. "What happened to Sammy?"  
  
"Sweetie," Aunt Amanda said as she clutched her coffee mug, "try to go back to bed. We don't--"  
  
"Tell me!" He was yelling, and he knew that good boys didn't yell at adults, but he didn't care. Without Sam, there was nothing and there would never be anything again; he needed Sam, more than he needed anyone. "Tell me what's goin' on!"  
  
Uncle Jim came over and crouched down in front of him. "Sam got sick, and fell asleep. The doctors are trying to wake him up and make him feel better. That's all we know right now, Campbell."  
  
Asleep. Campbell remembered that Cassandra had a hamster once, and it died. It went to sleep and never woke up again. "What if Sammy doesn't wake up?"  
  
Aunt Amanda started crying. Uncle Jim said nothing. Campbell went back to Cassandra, who was watching him with wide blue eyes. Allie woke up not long after, and they all ate pancakes in bed. At least, the girls did. Campbell gave his bacon to Cassandra and picked at his pancakes until they were cold. Allie played ball with them out in the yard; Campbell kicked it back to her a few times, but he was too busy thinking about his brother. Would he be okay? Would he come home? What made him sick? Kids didn't just die, did they?  
  
"I thought only old people died," Campbell said to Cassandra later, when Allie was getting a bath. "Sammy's too little."  
  
Cassandra was coloring in a book. She didn't look up, but she shrugged. "Kids die all the time. In war and from cancer and stuff."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"My parents watch the news."  
  
Campbell sucked on his lips. _Jealousy._ He knew that word, now, and knew it's ugly pulse. The only time he ever watched the television was when a movie or Sesame Street was put on for Sam. And he didn't even know what that word meant, cancer, but he wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to know. If he knew what it was, it made it real.  
  
That night, his father came to the house and picked Campbell up, taking him back to their own house to get some clothes. "You need to stay with your auntie and uncle for a while," his father said while snatched random things and jamming them into a backpack. "Just for a few days. Understand?"  
  
"When is Sammy coming home?"  
  
"Don't ask questions. Go get your toothbrush."  
  
Campbell slumped and wandered off to get his stuff from the bathroom. The ride back was silent. He brought his backpack in and dropped it next to Cassandra's bed; he noticed his father talking to Uncle Jim and Aunt Amanda in the study, and he slinked closer to listen. He couldn't hear much, but it was about Sam.  
  
"Meningitis. They don't know if he'll..."  
  
But then his father noticed him at the door. He walked over and shut it, just like that. Campbell felt something hot and painful stir in his chest, and without thinking, he kicked the door as hard as he could. It stayed shut. Campbell stormed back to the bedroom. His father left without saying goodbye, and that night, Campbell burrowed against Cassandra's shoulder as he cried. He didn't want to cry. He wanted to hit things, and break things, and make people hurt. He didn't understand it, but it was something he knew how to do.  
  
Sam woke up a few days later, and their parents brought him home after a week and a half in the hospital. Campbell stayed away a bit longer to give them time to take care of Sam; something had gone wrong in the hospital, but no one said what. Campbell barely ate. He didn't speak. Not to anyone besides Cassandra, anyways. She was the one who told him the news first, after she'd listened in on her parents talking.  
  
"They said Sam can't hear anymore," Cassandra whispered. "Not at all."  
  
Campbell didn't believe her, not until he finally was allowed back home and saw it for himself. Sam was crying, and wouldn't stop crying. When Campbell tried to see him, to talk to him, their parents shooed him out of the room. The days dragged on with no improvement. Take out containers piled up around the kitchen, and Campbell spent most of his time in his room. He'd try to read, or do puzzles, or kick a ball around the house. Alone. Always alone. Sometimes, he didn't see Sam for days. Even when he did, it was through the doorway of Sam's room, and Sam would just be laying in bed or screaming.  
  
Something inside Campbell snapped.  
  
Campbell remembered in vivid detail the day it happened. The day he changed. It was two weeks after Sam had come home. It had been over a month since Sam had first gotten sick. Every day had been worse than the last, with their mother sleeping at weird hours and their father growling at him at every little thing. He knew, in the way that five year olds knew, that his parents had to take care of Sam. But what about him? What about story time, or singing, or watching silly movies together? Things had just started feeling normal, and now it was all gone again. He was alone again. If Sam never got better, what would that even mean?  
  
He didn't know, and no one would explain. Campbell stood alone in the dining room, surrounded by clutter and white, dirty foam boxes that were starting to smell. That hot feeling was back, burning his chest, and Campbell had to let it out. He picked up one of the foam boxes and threw it. He threw another, and another, but it wasn't enough. That's when he picked up his toy ball, and hurled it into the living room. There was a loud crash, and his parents came running out. His mother said something, but Campbell didn't know what, because his father was already yelling at him.  
  
"What did you do that for?" his father shouted. "Your mother was trying to sleep. Don't you know how hard she has to work around here?"  
  
Campbell said nothing.  
  
"Answer me!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Fine. Apologize to your mother and go to your room."  
  
Campbell opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wasn't sorry. He didn't feel bad. He didn't feel _anything_. He went to his room without a word, and he stayed there until he was called. And that was what life became, most days. Wake up, get dressed, wait to be called for breakfast, return to his room, stare at his plate at lunch and eat almost nothing, return to his room, pick at dinner, bathe and brush his teeth, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Some days he would go to see Cassandra, but they just sat on the swingset and stared out at the woods, without speaking. Nothing mattered anymore. What was there to talk about?  
  
When his parents caught him playing with matches, they hid them. When they caught him cutting holes in his clothes and in his bedding, they hid those, too. Forks and knives were moved to higher shelves when Campbell took to stabbing himself in the hand with them, just to see if it still hurt. It did, but he didn't cry. It just didn't matter. No one did anything, not even Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jim, not even when he yanked the heads off Allie's dolls and pushed Cassandra off a swing.  
  
Cassandra didn't cry. She just got up and kicked him in the shin, and that was the last time Campbell ever pushed her. Hurt someone, and they hurt you back. Except, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they'd let you. Once he turned six and entered kindergarten, he learned that when he got into a fight with another kid over a toy. Campbell punched the other kid in the face, and for a tiny moment, he felt happy. He felt excited. He wanted to feel that again, and so he picked fights with more kids over the span of a few days, until parents began to complain and teachers spoke to his mother and father after school.  
  
"If you keep fighting," Cassandra said when she came over to play, "they'll send you away to a special school."  
  
Campbell frowned. "You're lying."  
  
"Am not. I heard my mom say to your mom."  
  
After that, Campbell stopped fighting with the other kids. He stuck to himself, watching them while he played alone. He learned more about them that way-- their names, their likes, their dislikes. He learned what made them laugh and what made them cry. Sometimes at home, he would copy the way their faces looked when they were happy or sad. Campbell was bored. He felt itchy, like he wanted to move and keep moving but couldn't. He missed that feeling of excitement. But at least he wasn't being sent away, and the more he practiced being like the other kids, the less his parents yelled at him. It was good enough.  
  
A year passed. Sam was tutored at home, and Campbell learned from the tutor how to talk to Sam using sign language. It took about a year to be able to really have a conversation with his little brother; he didn't put as much effort into it as he knew he should have, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Sam was only four years old. Anything he really needed to say, he said to their parents. Sometimes he would ask Campbell to play, but Campbell was six years old and struggling to fit in with other first graders. He came home exhausted and frustrated, and would usually end up snapping at Sam. It wasn't a surprise when Sam began to distance himself.  
  
And it only got worse. Campbell was angry all the time and couldn't make it stop. Any time the teacher tried to make him do oral reports or work in groups with classmates, he would break down. He didn't know what was going on, and his parents simply brushed it off as him being difficult. Teachers looked the other way. Classmates began to whisper about him when they thought he couldn't hear. Campbell managed to keep himself from lashing out at Sam, but walls, plates, and other inanimate objects began to suffer worse than ever.  
  
"Why won't they listen?" Campbell asked Cassandra one day. "They never listen to me. They just spend all their time worrying about Sam."  
  
Cassandra shrugged. "Sometimes you have to make them listen."  
  
He didn't know how. He threatened to run away, to hurt himself. Nothing. Sam had become one of them-- only approaching him when their parents wanted to order Campbell to come to dinner or brush his teeth or do his chores. There was only one place in the world where Campbell felt like he could just be himself-- when he was with Cassandra, though their visits had grown fewer and farther in between as Campbell spiraled. Soon, her parents stopped letting him visit altogether. That loss of support was the finale straw.  
  
Campbell went into the living room weeks after his final visit with Cassandra. His parents had gotten Sam a bird for his birthday; they always gave Sam everything he wanted. Everything. Sam was the only one who mattered to them. Campbell stared at the little green and yellow thing, shrieking and flapping in its cage; he'd finally thought of a way to make his parents listen to him. He opened the window, then reached into the cage and grabbed the bird. Campbell threw the bird out the open window, and headed back up to his bedroom.  
  
It was about an hour before anyone noticed. He could hear Sam screaming, and their parents were at his bedroom door in minutes.  
  
"What did you do with Oliver?" his father boomed. "Do you have him?"  
  
Campbell barely blinked. "I don't have him."  
  
"Where did you put him?"  
  
"Outside."  
  
His mother stared at Campbell like he had two heads. "Why would you do that? What is wrong with you?"  
  
Those words hung in the air, and Campbell didn't know what to say. He just gazed back at her and shrugged, silent. They hauled him downstairs and shoved him out the door, demanding he take them to where he put Oliver. Campbell obeyed, hesitating when he didn't see Oliver anywhere. How far could a pet bird go? His father started yelling, like always. They kept pushing him to look harder, to tell the truth, to take them to the bird, but he couldn't. The bird wasn't where he'd left it.  
  
He was grounded, indefinitely. Sam wouldn't look at him. A few days later, their mother came inside with a shoebox, her face grim. They sat Campbell down, and showed him what was inside. Campbell stared at the dead bird, bile rising in the back of his throat.  
  
"Did you do this?" his mother asked.  
  
"No! I swear, I only let him outside."  
  
"Tell us the truth."  
  
"I am!"  
  
His parents exchanged a look. They didn't believe him. Campbell could tell. They left the room, and he could hear Sam wailing a few moments after. Campbell sat at the table, looking down at his hands as his thoughts raced. He hadn't meant this. He'd just wanted to upset Sam a little, get their parents to react. He just wanted them to talk to him, to take him to talk to someone. He wanted to feel like he mattered.  
  
Now, he just felt... empty. Lost.  
  
Sam came in. His eyes were red and swollen. He was still crying, and he was signing something at Campbell. _Why_. Over and over and over, just... _why_. Campbell didn't know how to answer. He'd never bothered to learn how to say things like b _ecause I'm angry, because mom and dad love you more, because I need help, because there's something wrong with me_. So he just did what he did before, and said nothing.  
  
That was the first time Sam looked at him with hatred. Campbell stood and brushed past Sam, heading back to his room. Something twisted in his stomach, but he didn't know what. He couldn't tell, and he didn't want to. Like cancer, if it was named, it would be real.  
  
He didn't want any of it to be real.

He just wanted to fade away.


	2. Chapter 2

It was an hour long drive to the psychiatrist.  
  
The office smelled like iodine. The walls were white, the counters were white, the floor was white. The only person in the waiting room besides Campbell and his parents was the lady at the desk, a younger woman with stringy pale hair and a mean look. Campbell gave her a bright, cheerful smile. The lady scowled in return, but it didn't matter. It was all just a game.  
  
Doctor Cotton looked like his name. Old, white, with thin and poofy white hair coming out his head and ears. He had a red nose and gravelly voice, and Campbell was immediately disinterested in anything he had to say. The doctor asked him questions, made him take quizzes that asked things like "I feel anger that I can't control" and "I think about hurting myself". Campbell answered honestly, just in case maybe the doctor did actually know what he was doing. After two hours of testing, the doctor got up and took Campbell's parents into another room; when they came back, his parents were thin lipped and stiff. They didn't say anything to Campbell, just gathered him up and took him back home.  
  
He never saw Doctor Cotton again.   
  
Campbell knew one thing from the visit, at least. They never told him what the doctor has said, or what was wrong, but Campbell figured it must have been bad. His parents were afraid of him, just like everyone else. They looked at him different. Treated him differently. They yelled at him less, grabbed him less. That would have been fine, except they had this look in their eyes, this worried look as if he'd explode at any moment and hurt them. Campbell had no desire to hurt his family. Sure, sometimes he hit walls or threw things or would steal some money for extra snacks at school, and he knew what he did to Sam's bird was cruel, but he didn't mean any harm; it was the only thing that made them pay attention. He hadn't meant to make them hate him.  
  
He knew he should have been more upset than he was, but all he felt was an odd numbness. It wasn't sad. It's just how life was, and in a way, that's how it had always been in some way or another. He couldn't really remember a time when his family had actually loved him all on his own. It was easy not to care, so he let himself not care. He just did what he wanted to do, said what he wanted to say, and whatever happened was just what happened. His parents kept him hidden away from neighbors, extended family, friends. They laughed off his outbursts, with tight smiles and cold eyes. Sam became a stranger. He focused on his school work-- it was the surest way of getting the hell out of West Ham-- even though his grades slipped when he refused to do public speaking and fucked off during group projects. It wasn't that he hated school. He liked it, but he hated people.   
  
That was the part of him that Campbell wasn't sure he enjoyed. The older he got, the worse it felt. Birthdays, family gatherings, holidays. None of it had any real meaning, and he couldn't _feel_ anything. He sneaked a switchblade into the house and began cutting his upper thighs when he was twelve, trying to see if maybe it would do something. Anything. It gave him a rush of endorphins, and for a while, that was enough. He ignored the quiet thoughts that told him he was worthless, a parasite, and should die. All teenagers had that, he thought. It still made it hard to sleep at night, sometimes, but there was no point in sharing. Eventually, it'd go away.   
  
It never went away. Not really.   
  
It wasn't all bad, being how he was. He was able to charm his way out of trouble with teachers, and fear was a rare and fleeting feeling. Campbell was still glad to see Cassandra in school, enjoyed seeing videos of cute kittens on YouTube, and felt some somber emotion when bad shit happened on the news. He was still willing to hold the classroom door open for a student who was in a wheelchair, and subjects like science, government, and history came easily to him. He liked facts, figures, formulas. He liked knowing how and why things-- and people-- ticked. It was a trait he shared in common with Cassandra, and at least it gave him one person to bond with.  
  
He still wasn't allowed to visit, not when her parents were home. Campbell was able to see Cassandra at school; they had ended up in the same 7th grade class. She was distant, but she still sat with him, studied with him, and invited him to eat lunch with her. She still treated him like a person.   
  
"My thirteenth birthday party is next week," she said one day. "Gonna come over?"  
  
"I've been banned from your home, remember?"  
  
Cassandra smiled. "My parents told me I could invite whoever I wanted, and we both know that means like... three people who are going to show up. C'mon. There'll be cake. If they try and say no, I'll play the guilt card."  
  
Campbell glanced at the scar on his cousin's chest. Years back, after he stopped being able to see her at home, she'd gotten surgery to fix some heart condition she'd been born with. Her parents treated her like a delicate doll still, and Campbell had heard stories from Cassandra and Allie both about Cassandra's ability to exploit that for personal gain. So Campbell agreed to go, and he had no idea how Cassandra managed it, but he found himself walking into the first birthday party he'd experienced in years. His own were spent alone, and Sam didn't want him around for his.  
  
It was mostly just family, and a few kids he didn't know. Gordie, Becca, Kelly, and then some boy named Harry. Out of everyone, Harry was the one to catch Campbell's attention; he spent a good portion of the party watching the boy closely. Harry seemed to be everything that Campbell wasn't. Vivid, talkative, well liked, popular. He had a bright smile and mischievous dark eyes, and when he saw Campbell staring at him, he strolled right on up as if they were old friends.  
  
"Hey," he greeted. "I'm Harry. You Cassandra's cousin, Campbell, right? Having fun?"  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Campbell clutched his soda cup a little closer. No one was ever that friendly to him, not unless they wanted something. "If someone dared you to come over, I don't--"  
  
"Do people really do that? I just thought you looked lonely."  
  
Lonely. Was he lonely? Campbell blinked. It was true enough that he never really felt like he belonged. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but he never really thought about what it meant. Crossing his arms, he shrugged. "What, you wanna hold hands and sing the Friendship Song or something?"  
  
Harry laughed. It was a beautiful sound. "Not necessary. I thought maybe we could hang out some time."  
  
"Might be bad for your reputation. I'm sure you've heard some things about me."  
  
"I have, but it doesn't matter to me. I'd rather get to know someone on my own."  
  
And that was that. It took a while for Campbell to warm up to Harry; it took time and effort for Campbell to feel affection for anyone, and his trust was hard won, but Harry had a certain way about him that Campbell found appealing. He was sweet and quick to smile, and far more sensitive than anyone would expect. Their weaknesses balanced one another well. While Harry was outgoing and fearless around people, he was often nervous to take other kinds of risks, like sneaking a sip of his parent's wine while they were out. Campbell loved the risk and excitement it brought, but shied away from social interaction. Luckily, Harry seemed drawn to Campbell's fiery temper and penchant for wild stunts, and people seemed to stare and gossip about Campbell less when Harry was around. Win-win.  
  
But Harry's friendship changed little. He lied, cheated, stole, and terrorized other students if it got him his way. Harry would sigh, but often what benefited Campbell ended up benefiting Harry, so his friend didn't complain. Campbell began drinking, using charm and manipulation to get Harry to befriend kids with alcoholic parents and druggie siblings. Harry was too straight-laced to take that stuff himself, but he didn't stop Campbell from buying and selling it; he was making money, too. It became easy to profit off beer, weed, even prescription medication. If anyone noticed, no one said anything.  
  
Same for when Campbell began taking valium. A girl in his class, Lexie, had an addict mother who never could keep track of how many pills she had. The booze and pills sometimes helped him feel... different. More relaxed, a little happier. It at least helped him deal with the tense, wrong-in-his-skin sensation that he got when he thought too much about what was wrong with him. He tried to be careful, but one day his parents were both gone at the office, and Campbell took too much. Dizzy, he called Cassandra.  
  
Cassandra came over. How she got there, got inside the house, and found her way to him, he didn't know. But she held his head in her lap while the world spun. "Should I call someone?"  
  
"No. It's okay. It's just..." Campbell groaned as his stomach heaved. "Just a cold."  
  
"I know you've been taking pills. I should call someone."  
  
But she didn't move, and Campbell just lay there shivering. At some point, Sam came home. Campbell could barely see, but he could tell Sam was signing to Cassandra, and Cassandra was signing back. Sam stared at him, then frowned and headed towards his own room.   
  
"I didn't know you knew sign language," Campbell mumbled. "When did you learn?  
  
Casandra shrugged. "A while back. Allie, too. I'm pretty sure you're the only one in our family behind on it."  
  
There was a teasing note in her voice. He felt a stab of frustration, but it was taken over fast by nausea. Campbell managed to crawl from Cassandra's lap to his bathroom, where he promptly threw up. Between bouts of vomiting, he thought over Cassandra's words. His parents and Sam were always signing, and Campbell only understood about half of the conversation, if their parents even bothered speaking out loud. Sometimes he would notice Sam glancing at him, and it made him wonder what they were saying.  
  
"Could you teach me?" Campbell asked her once he felt better. "How to sign?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I wanna know what they're saying."  
  
"That's it? You want to eavesdrop?"  
  
"What does it matter?"  
  
Cassandra turned to him and pinned him down with that intense, strange look of hers. She didn't say anything; she just helped him clean his face, tucked him into bed, and did her homework on the floor next to the bed. Campbell closed his eyes. Cassandra didn't have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking. He was going to be a freshman soon. A few more years would make or break his effort to get out of West Ham. Once he did... would he ever see his family again? His parents, Campbell didn't care. But Sam? He didn't know what to do about Sam. Every time he thought about the kid, he felt so angry.   
  
"I'll teach you," Cassandra said suddenly. "But I hope it helps you do more than just listening in to their conversations."  
  
Campbell rolled his eyes, but it wasn't like he wasn't already thinking about it. Whatever. He fell asleep as his stomach settled down. When he woke up in the night, she was gone. No one ever said anything about it, so Cassandra must have covered for him. He resolved to cut back on the drugs, and turned his attention towards becoming fluent in sign language. It was challenging, but he enjoyed that element to it. Cassandra taught him during lunch and break, without bringing up his family again; she'd said what she wanted to say, and the rest was in his hands. Literally.  
  
Logically, he knew that the anger he felt wasn't Sam's fault. He was resentful of Sam because he got everything Campbell ever wanted. Friends, loving parents, some sort of happiness. Campbell hated to admit he was jealous, but it was true. It didn't mean he could turn off that resentment, but it kept him from doing anything to Sam at least. He got into plenty of fistfights with other teenagers around town, but he never laid a hand on Sam. What would be the point? The benefit? Campbell didn't do shit just to do shit. Everything he did was calculated, risks versus rewards, pros and cons. There were no rewards in hurting Sam.  
  
Were there rewards in trying to mend the bridge between them? He didn't know. but learning how to actually talk to Sam more easily would be a good way to test those waters. Campbell figured out what he wanted to say, and showed it to Cassandra; it took forver to get it and possible answers down, but he finally felt prepared. If it didn't work, well, at least he'd tried.  
  
Campbell waited until their parents were out again, and he and Sam were home alone. Ever since Sam had turned eleven, their parents had magically decided it was safe to leave them under the same roof together; it was a weird turn, considering mommy and daddy dearest seemed to think Campbell was Satan incarnate, but apparently it was some emergency at work that couldn't wait. In any case, it gave Campbell a small window to talk to Sam without their parents hovering nearby.   
  
He tossed a pair of rolled up socks at Sam to get his attention. Sam snapped his head up to stare at Campbell, and Campbell signed to him. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Yes," Sam signed back. He paused as Campbell walked closer, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"No, I just wanted to talk."  
  
Sam frowned. "When did you learn to sign?"  
  
"Cassandra taught me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, Campbell thought for a moment over what he wanted to say. "I'm sorry about Oliver." It wasn't that he really felt guilty, but he knew he'd done wrong and never tried to make it right, and he needed to change that if he wanted to get anywhere with Sam. "I'm sorry I hurt you."  
  
"You don't mean that."  
  
"I do."  
  
"You killed him to hurt me."  
  
Campbell stopped. Was that true? It had been years, but he could remember that moment. He hadn't wanted to hurt Sam. He'd wanted the attention of their parents, and he knew the best way to do that was to hurt Sam. Still, it hadn't been about Sam at all. "Who said that?"  
  
"Mom and dad said so."  
  
"I put him outside, but I didn't kill him. They didn't believe me."  
  
"What do you want?" Sam asked. The hand motions were short, terse. He was upset. "Why are you apologizing?"  
  
"We don't like each other, but I wanted to try and be civil."  
  
"Like... friends?"  
  
"No. Like brothers."  
  
Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam looked away and fiddled with his homework papers. After a few minutes, he nodded. "We can try."  
  
And for a while, it almost seemed like they were going to make it. They'd sneak out for pizza or for milkshakes and fries when their parents were gone, or meet with Cassandra and Allie at the arcade. Sam taught Campbell more sign language, and Campbell helped Sam with his homework. It wasn't exactly normal. They didn't spend a lot of time together; they both still had their own friends and hobbies, and Sam was still nervous around him. Campbell felt protective of Sam, but his resentment never fully faded, and Campbell wasn't sure that affection was the same as love. But it was an improvement, nonetheless.  
  
Campbell managed to keep the rest of his life away from Sam, for the most part. Harry's popularity had taken an odd turn as he'd slipped into the world of smoking weed. Campbell supplied the goods, and Harry doled them out among the football team. Campbell could see how it was heading, even at fifteen. The only people who actually liked Harry were the ones who needed him, and so Harry needed Campbell. Campbell enjoyed manipulating the strings between the two of them. Campbell got a share of the money, and a friend who damn near licked his boots in a desperate attempt to maintain his social standing. Pathetic, but cute.  
  
And Sam didn't need to know that that was how Campbell managed to fund their bro time, or the gifts that Campbell got Sam to try and barter for his trust. Sam was his brother. They were getting closer, and maybe by the time they were both a little older, Sam would understand more. Campbell knew Sam wanted them to be close, and though Campbell still cared for Harry, he could admit that it was nice to finally feel like he had his actual brother back. Especially considering Sam was about to start high school, and who knew what kind of bullshit Sam would hear from all the stuck up upperclassmen.  
  
They were out at the local all-day-breakfast joint, talking about what school supplies they both needed and which of Sam's friends were in which classes. Sam had been talking about one girl, Becca, for weeks; they had gotten math together.   
  
Campbell chuckled at Sam's excitement, flicking the bacon from his breakfast over to Sam's plate in exchange for Sam's english muffin. Five years since Oliver's gruesome demise, and Campbell still couldn't really stomach meat. "What, is she like your crush or something?" he teased. "This Becca chick?"  
  
Sam froze. Slowly, Sam signed a denial. "She's just a friend."  
  
Campbell noticed the emotion there on his brother's expression. Not fear, so much as just uncertainty. He made a calculated guess. "Yeah? Are there any girls you do like?"  
  
"No," Sam replied. He looked down at his hands. After a moment, he glanced back up and signed, quickly. "I'm gay."  
  
Bingo. Campbell sipped his orange juice, thinking. It's not like West Ham was super progressive, but it wasn't exactly a deep red area, either. Their parents, to his knowledge, had never talked to them about sex let alone different kinds of sexualities. Most of what Campbell knew was from watching porn over Harry's shoulder and seeing all the different categories and titles. Sometimes, Harry would tap on one of the gay ones, laughing about it while watching Campbell out of the corner of his eye. Waiting for a reaction. Campbell would just take a drag of weed, shrug, and pretend the air between them hadn't gotten thicker.  
  
Campbell nodded. "Have you told anyone else?"  
  
"No. But I want to."  
  
"Well, if anyone gives you shit, I'll beat them up for you."  
  
Sam gave him a tentative smile. "Thanks."  
  
And so Sam came out just after the start of high school. Campbell did have to beat up one neanderthal creep, Brandon. He made some snide comment on the way home from school, and Campbell pounded the guy's face into the pavement while a bunch of the football players watched silently from the sidelines. Campbell gave Brandon one last kick in the ribs before he turned to leave. One of the football players, Grizz, was staring a bit longer than the others.  
  
"What?" Campbell spat. "You next?"  
  
Grizz shook his head. "Nope, no thanks. Respect."  
  
No one bothered Sam again. Not anywhere Campbell could see or hear, at least. That, at least, was one thing that didn't change; no matter how they felt towards each other, the only one who was allowed to fuck with Sam was Campbell, and vise versa. They were still brothers, and Campbell had decided that he would protect Sam even if things went to hell again.   
  
It was an unspoken rule that would become important a lot sooner than expected.


	3. Chapter 3

The honeymoon lasted for two years.

If Campbell was honest with  himself, it was more like a year. A year and a half, maybe. Campbell's  grades began to slip the longer high school went on. Getting to class  was the easy part, but the noise and crowds and constant stress was  getting to a breaking point. He'd found a few articles that talked about  social anxiety, and realized it fit. It didn't exactly matter. He  couldn't talk to anyone who knew how to handle it. He was on his own. He  managed to get a handle on his temper, at least to some degree; the  internet was a beautiful resource for tips and tricks, and it felt kinda  silly to do shit like meditate and drink chamomile tea or whatever, but  taking some time every day to try and relax helped. 

It didn't  solve anything, but it was a start. What it didn't help, though, was his  drug habit. Campbell had managed to wean himself off of Valium when he  noticed it made his irritability worse, but ended up popping Xanax  instead. And in the end, that was the final nail in the coffin. Sam had  begun to see more of what Campbell was up to. Of course he'd heard  rumors, and Campbell had expected that, but what Campbell hadn't exactly  anticipated was how popular Sam would be across a wide demographic of  the school population. He was friends with Allie and Cassandra, who were  friends with Gordie and Becca, who were friends with Kelly, who was  friends with the football team, who were "friends" with Harry. It was  one big long goddamn game of telephone, as it turned out. So it wasn't  exactly rare to see Sam mulling about when Campbell was with Harry and  Harry's little druggie devotees. 

"Are you doing drugs?" Sam finally asked one day. 

Campbell  ran the scenario through his head a few times before picking the least  bad route. "I sell weed to Harry," he answered. It wasn't a lie.  Campbell did sell weed to Harry, but Sam didn't need to know he also  peddled pills, alcohol, and had a contact who'd moved from New York with  a supply of cocaine they were looking to unload. He didn't need to know  that Campbell was hooked on downers and booze, either. "It's no big  deal."

Sam searched Campbell's face, but nodded and seemed to  move on. The problem was that Sam wasn't clueless. He could see that  something was happening to Campbell, and Campbell wasn't eager to admit  to it. It wasn't like Campbell partied. He hated it. Even if he went to  them, he hung around Harry or tucked himself into the quietest corner he  could find. He didn't intoxicate himself to have fun, so much as to  function. Kale and deep breathing could only do so much for whatever was  wrong with him, and the drugs helped him relax, even if it was  temporary. But he was having to take more, and they made him more  scattered, even though he tried to be careful. It was like being wrapped  up in a safe, quiet cocoon, and it was good... at first. He was drowsy,  dizzy, and had withdrawn more than ever. Some nights, he barely got out  of bed.

Sam stood in Campbell's doorway one evening. His hands  were moving, but Campbell could barely make out what he was saying. "We  were supposed to go get pizza tonight. Are you okay?"

"I forgot,"  Campbell signed back. He managed to pull himself together enough to  drag himself outside and take Sam to the pizzeria. "Sorry, I've been  tired lately."

"I know." 

"How's school been?" 

"Campbell." 

"What?"

The  skin across Sam's forehead wrinkled, and his jaw jutted out just a bit.  When he signed, it was slower than usual, hesitant. "Tell me the truth.  Are you in trouble?"

Campbell sighed. "It's okay. I've got things under control."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."  A flash of annoyance bubbled up in Campbell's chest, but he managed to  shove it back down. Sam was just worried, like siblings should be.  "Don't worry about it. I'm just stressed out."

For a minute, it  looked like Sam was going to let it go, but then Campbell saw someone  approaching and he knew it was all over. Clark, one of the football  players and an ignorant loudmouth who sniffed around Harry for weed, was  heading right their way and he looked pissed. Campbell stayed put and  kicked back. There was no point in getting worked up. It'd just make  things look suspicious to Sam. 

"Harry told me you'd be here,"  Clark boomed like the fucking oaf he was. "I was supposed to pick up  dexies from him, but he said you hadn't delivered."

Goddamn it.  Campbell made a mental note to throttle Harry later. Purposefully  turning his face away from Sam, Campbell laced his fingers behind his  head and gave Clark as charming a smile as he could manage. "First of  all, my dude, maybe quiet the fuck down unless you want me to toss you  your shit out the window of the police station."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. You got any?"

"Do I look like I'm here to deal? Meet me at Harry's, one hour."

Clark  grunted a reply, which have must have been an agreement because he  left. Sam was giving Campbell a look that Campbell knew was trouble, but  he didn't say anything until they got home. Campbell was in his room,  digging his stash out of the locked box in the back of his closet, when  Sam came up beside him. He tugged on Campbell's shirt until Campbell  turned his attention to Sam.

"Clark asked you for something," Sam signed. "What's going on? I'm worried about you."

Campbell kept his face neutral. "We have something good going, don't we? We've been having a good time?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then  trust me. Alright? If I needed your help, I'd let you know. A friend  just has a hard time right now, but do your homework and I'll be back  before mom and dad get home."

Sam chewed on his lip. He nodded;  Campbell ruffled Sam's hair as he headed out, earning a scowl from his  little brother. Harry and Clark were waiting for him when he got there.  It was a quick transaction, sixty bucks in his hands in minutes. Clark  left, leaving Campbell and Harry alone for a bit. He'd planned to just  leave, too, but he noticed the dark circles under Harry's eyes.

"You look rough," Campbell noted. "What's up?"

Harry  shook his head. "Uh, nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. Do you think maybe  I could get a little extra weed? I'm having a hard time sleeping."

Campbell  pulled out a little baggy of the good stuff, and dangled it in front of  Harry. "I don't usually feel charitable, but we could trade instead if  you don't have the spare cash."

"What do you want?"

"What have you got?"

Shrugging,  Harry tried to lighten his voice. It was a weak attempt to sound  casual. "It's either booze or a blowjob, take your pick."

"Both," Campbell challenged. 

They  locked eye contact. Harry looked away first. He wandered to the liquor  cabinet, fishing out a small, unopened bottle of Campbell's favorite and  shoving it at him. "Sorry, you'll just have to go fuck yourself  tonight."

"Shame. Goodnight, Harry."

"Yeah."

Campbell  paused on the porch, glancing back at his friend. "You gonna be okay,  or should I start texting you hotline numbers or something?"

"It's  nothing." Harry forced a smile. "My dad's just been under the weather  lately. I'm sure he'll be fine, though. I just need to get some sleep."

It  wasn't worth picking at. Their relationship had three rules-- don't  care too much, don't pry too hard, and everything was just a joke. Harry  was intensely private, and Campbell's ability to really empathize was  shallow at best. If Harry didn't want to talk yet, so be it. Campbell  headed home, just in time to skulk up to his room and hide his prize. 

He  could hear their parents come home a few minutes later. Campbell hopped  onto his bed and busied himself with his homework; the rest of the  night was uneventful, and he passed out around midnight without much  trouble at all. The next morning, however, Campbell was awoken by raised  voices from downstairs. He tuned out the sound of arguing, or at least  he tried. It got steadily louder, and suddenly both his mother and  father were in his doorway, looking apocalyptic. 

"I just got a  call from Harry's parents," his mother said with narrowed eyes. "They  noticed some of their liquor is missing, and they said that the only  friends Harry sees regularly are you and some kid named Clark."

Shit.  Of course they had to go and notice now, when they never had before.  Campbell just yawned. "Clark's a jerk, everyone knows that." Sidestep  around the subject, and you never had to actually lie. "It wouldn't  surprise me if he did it."

"Well, Clark's parents said it wasn't him."

"So  what?" Campbell's gaze noticed movement behind his parents. Sam. "I was  with Sam last night. We went and got pizza. Right, Sam?"

Sam  froze as their parents turned to look at him. He looked from them, to  Campbell, then back. At first, Campbell felt a spark of hope. Reluctance  was good. Reluctance meant he had at least some part of Sam's loyalty.  But then Sam spoke, and everything went to shit. "He was only with me  part of the night. He left to go to Harry's before you go home." 

Campbell felt like everything had been yanked out from under him. "What the fuck, Sam?"

"I'm sorry," Sam answered him. "You need help."

The  'help' that Campbell got was his parents raiding his room. They took  his knife, his stash of drugs, and the liquor. On their way out, his  father informed Campbell that he was grounded for a month. No internet,  no phone calls, no friends. School and home, nothing else. Campbell  waited to hear that they were sending him to rehab, to finally see a  therapist or someone for his drug problem, but of course it was West Ham  and nothing was ever wrong in West Ham. No one ever acknowledged  anything unpleasant. 

Whatever Campbell had hoped for from his  family, from Sam, it was dead and gone. Campbell kept his door shut,  only coming out to get food or go to school. He pretended not to notice  the conversation between his parents and Sam, right after. We told you  he lies, we warned you that he'd manipulate you. Campbell only cares  about Campbell. 

Well, if it hadn't been true before, it was from  that moment forward. Fuck family. Fuck trying to fit in. So what if  he'd gotten into drugs and shit? Half the damn town was, including the  adults. The town was rotten to it's core, and Campbell had been trying  to survive the toxic happiness, the cloying politeness, the poisoned  sweetness. The whole damn town was always just a gentle breeze away from  erupting into something petty and vulgar. Maybe no one else saw it, but  he did, and so what if he wanted to just be numb to it?

Fine,  let them hate him, and to hell with worrying about why he was always  angry or why he couldn't feel shit or think like everyone else. What  good would it do him, anyhow? What good had any emotion ever done him?  Everyone hated him, everyone was afraid of him. All they saw was  something rotten and evil, like some kind of terrible animal. Campbell  was done caring. He was done feeling sad or lonely or desperate. He was  done trying.

If all anyone would see was a monster, that's what they were gonna get.

The  month passed by, slowly. Campbell had nights where his bed got soaked  with sweat, where his mood tanked so low that he just wanted to step in  front of a train. Withdrawal was a terrible thing. The nightmares were  the worst part. He didn't want to sleep, or eat. He just wanted  everything to end. The only thing that kept him floating was the fact  that he could see Harry and Cassandra at school, when he actually  managed to get there. Harry kept his distance; Campbell wasn't the only  one being punished, and Harry was bitter about it. Still, at least he  eventually began to say hello again, and that was just enough.

Cassandra  never shied away from Campbell. She was more like him than anyone ever  really noticed. Both had a tendency to manipulate, not necessarily out  of malice, but well... Neither were good with people, or asking for what  they wanted. Needed. Neither liked to admit they needed anything. They  were both difficult, reserved, generally unpopular, and having a bit of a  taste for blood. Not in the literal sense, of course; Cassandra was a  champion at debate, with a razor sharp wit and an even sharper tongue,  and Campbell was never one to back down from a fight anymore.

They  used to joke, sometimes, that with her broken heart and his broken  brain, together they made almost a functioning human being.

As  Campbell slipped back into bad habits and giving in to his mood swings,  she never blinked at his outbursts. She never raised an eyebrow when he  snapped and snarled and threatened. Not that he would ever actually harm  her, but his mind just ran too fast sometimes, got too hot, and then  words would fly out that he didn't always mean. His fists began to fly  again, too. Into a pillow, a wall, through a window. Usually during  family visits that just got to be too much, and most were too much.  Cassandra would quietly follow him to his room when his parents  inevitably sent him there; he had given up on trying to behave and  engage and pretend to be normal. They would lay on the floor, staring at  the ceiling while Campbell silently fumed. On the really bad days, when  he'd cracked his knuckles open on something or someone, she'd bandage  his hands.

"They'll never understand," Campbell growled one  night, after he smashed a glass after his parents cancelled plans yet again to help Sam with a project. It was just before senior year, and  Campbell had needed help with college bullshit that _they_ had wanted him to do to  begin with. "They just don't care, even if they pretend to."

"So, you have to care for yourself more. You were doing so well, for a while. Maybe you should try again, for your own sake."

Campbell  didn't answer. He didn't know how. He'd given up on trying to change;  every story needed a good villain, and he was fine with filling that  role. At least Harry had, now that six months had passed, crawled back  to him. Dating that Kelly chick, but it was all whatever. Campbell  minded his own business unless someone crossed him or had something he  wanted. But, he thought, maybe he could at least try to figure out why  he was the way he was. 

His parents never spoke of what they  learned about him when he was younger, but it had been easy enough to  pick the lock on his father's file cabinet. His father never threw away  any sort of paperwork, and sure enough, there was a file in there with  Campbell's name on it. Jackpot. There wasn't much at all, but there was  one report from some shrink outside of town. Far, far away. One visit.  He barely remembered it. Campbell skimmed the report, his lips pursing  as his sight landed on the diagnosis. Conduct disorder. A recommendation  for intensive therapy, possible medication, and reevaluation for  Antisocial Personality Disorder when he was older. Campbell had never  been placed on medication, and he'd never been in therapy. His parents  had completely ignored everything.

Shocking, he thought to himself with no small amount of sarcasm.

But  what did any of that mean? He pulled up Google on the family computer,  when no one else was home. Campbell bypassed Wikipedia and went directly  to some mental health website instead. Conduct disorder, he read, was  "a repetitive and persistent pattern of behavior in children and  adolescents in which the rights of others or basic social rules are  violated". He frowned as he continued to read, some odd feeling sinking  into his chest. The picture painted was not a pleasant one. A child or  teen who harmed others, animals, themselves, and were aggressive,  deceitful, and all around troublemakers with low empathy and little  remorse. While many grew up to be functional members of society, some--  especially those with an onset before the age of ten, like Campbell--  went on to become something much more dangerous.

Campbell opened a  new tab and Googled the term he'd seen a few times now. Antisocial  Personality Disorder. He read website after website, and Campbell felt a  twinge in his stomach as he took in what he saw. Con artist. Criminal.  Psychopath. Violent. Abuser. Monster. These were the words Campbell saw  used for these people, people like him. Stories of broken families,  destroyed relationships, mutilated animals, incarceration. Every site  said that these people were incapable of feeling emotions. They were  incapable of being successful or living a normal life. They would use  and hurt everyone they ever met, and they would never love anyone but  themselves.

Campbell had no illusions about who he was, and what  he did. He knew he lied often, for his own reasons but still, it was a  pattern. He was a cynical person who focused more on logic than emotion,  and he had come to embrace the fact that people feared him. He accepted  that he didn't feel the way others seemed to feel. That was one thing  that didn't seem to fit the narrative that the websites presented. It  wasn't that he couldn't feel, or that he didn't have emotions. He could,  he did. It just... took work. Effort. And it never seemed quite as deep  as the emotions of people around him. It was like someone had taken his  world and lowered the saturation by fifty percent. He'd always thought  that was just how he was, no real reason, but all of these sites and one  psychiatric report suggested otherwise.

Did that mean he was  like these people, for sure? Was he evil? Was destined to be an abuser, a  serial killer or something? It wasn't even his fault. Everything  Campbell read said that it was a problem in his head. Some sort of  genetic mix up, a stray allele in the brain, too much of this or that  protein and too little of this or that chemical. He couldn't help it, to  a point.

... Right?

Campbell printed out some of the  stuff and took a picture of the report before erasing the search history  on the computer and tucking the file back into its home in his father's  office. He relocked the drawer, and then tried to go about his day.  What was he supposed to do now, now that he knew he was probably...  what, a sociopath? Who was there to talk to? He couldn't ask his  parents. They obviously didn't give a shit; his mother especially was  always worried more about what the PTA moms would think. Campbell  briefly considered Sam, but no, there was too much damage there between  them already. Harry? No.

It was when he was at Cassandra's home a  few weeks later, helping her prepare for the first debate team meeting  of the year, when it just slipped out of his mouth. "I think I might be a  literal psychopath."

Cassandra paused, looking up from her notes. "What?"

He  opened his backpack and dug out a folder, handing it over to her.  Cassandra opened the folder and read through the papers Campbell had  printed out. Her face was calm, neutral. He waited for some sort of  emotion, some indicator of judgment, but there was nothing. Some pages  she read over more than once, but when she was done, she tidied the  papers and gazed off into space for a long, long moment.

"You  can't be diagnosed with anything until you're at least eighteen," she  said. "Even if you do have ASPD, that doesn't make you a _psychopath_."

"That's  what you're focusing on, here? Don't you think I should, I don't know,  be in a mental ward or on an uninhabited island or something?"

Cassandra  didn't reply at first. When she turned her eyes to him, there was  something strange there. Something haunted. "You need to get rid of  these papers. You need to get rid of them, and pretend like nothing's  changed. Do you understand? You can't tell anyone about this."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I've  researched mental health issues for health class. Cambell, people barely  sympathize with people who have depression. They won't sympathize with  you. People already think you're dangerous. If you get diagnosed with  this, it goes on your medical records. They'll see every Hollywood  stereotype, every worse case scenario, and then you'll never stand a  chance. Do you understand me?"

"Then..." Campbell looked away and  stared at the fireplace, swallowing hard. There was a lump in his  throat, and it hurt to breathe. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair.  "What am I supposed to do? I don't want to be a monster, Cassandra."

"We can figure it out together. I'll help you."

"I don't expect you to save me."

"Maybe I'm trying to save myself, too."

Silence  fell between them as Campbell studied her face and realized what she  meant. Realized what that look in her eyes before had meant. But how was  that possible? Cassandra was good, had perfect grades, had never gotten  in a single lick of trouble, and... and was ruthless, a loner, logical  to a fault, and had a family who loved her. Campbell wanted to say  something, but what was there to say about it? He just nodded, and he  didn't stop her as she went to the fireplace, crouched, and tossed the  papers inside. The papers curled, blackened, and crumbled away; soon,  there was nothing left but ash.

"Now what?" Campbell wondered.

Cassandra  turned to look at him, wreathed in fire and her golden hair glowing.  "You're not a monster, any more than I am. So, let's prove it. Learn.  Adapt."

_Learn. Adapt._

It was a lesson he would remember, long after Cassandra was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter involves what happened to Becca, and discusses the aftermath of sexual assault. (The perpetrator is unknown.) It is implied, not shown, but still may be upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

Senior year didn't seem to be too wild, at first.

Knowing made  things better, but they also made things worse in some ways. Campbell  did agree with Cassandra that they didn't have to be evil, irredeemable  people. Unfortunately, there were few resources out there that had any  sort of positive, hopeful outlook. Campbell knew that, be he still tried  to find some anyways. The ones he did manage to find were often  anonymous men talking about how awesome they were and laughing about  torturing animals, abusing their family, and sharing prison stories.  Some forums were a bit less intense, but Campbell never bothered  engaging. He was like a jalapeno among a bunch of ghost peppers. They  weren't going to improve his situation any.

"It's like any other  condition," Cassandra said while Campbell helped her bake cookies for  some sort of asinine fundraiser. "There's a spectrum of severity. Some  people are on the end where it's not really noticeable."

Campbell  stirred a giant bowl of batter, taking out his frustration on the  chocolate chip mix. "I know people can't help being what they are,  exactly, but I don't know where I fall on that spectrum and it's kind  of..."

"Scary?"

"Maybe. They say people like us can't get scared. Do you believe that?"

Cassandra  popped a batch in the oven and flopped onto the kitchen stool. She  tilted her head, thinking. "Mm. I don't know. I suppose that for me,  it's more that I get concerned, but I think that's what it's supposed to  be. Fear. But it's fainter, you know? It doesn't last long. Just enough  to make me think."

"That's why you're so good at debate, I guess."

"Probably. What about you?"

"Dunno.  I guess social anxiety is common in guys with it. I don't know if  that's the same as fear, though. I just hate getting in front of a group  of people I know hate me, and try to pretend they _don't_ , you know? I don't worry about much else."

"Handy."

"Sometimes."

Cassandra swung her feet. She leaned on the counter and rested her hand on her chin, peering at him. "What about love?"

"What about it?"

"Have you been in love?"

Campbell  stopped stirring for a moment. "I don't know. It's kind of a weird  thing. I guess I do feel attracted to people, sometimes."

"Like Harry?"

"How do you figure?"

"I have eyes, and I know you."

"Whatever."  He started scooping balls of dough onto a cookie sheet. Cassandra made a  gesture for him to continue. "Yeah. Harry, but he's got Kelly now. And  there's this girl in school I kinda like. Elle. Never seems to really  hang out with anyone, kinda has a snooty vibe, but she's pretty."

Cassandra nodded. "She is. But attraction isn't love, really."

"It's not. I don't know, I guess it's... I think I love Sam. I mean, you love Allie, right?"

"I  do." She shrugged. "She's fun. Smart. I wouldn't give up my dream of  going to Yale to go to her college or anything, but we take care of each  other. I want her to be safe and happy. I try not to hurt her on  purpose, even if I do by accident, sometimes. I think that's love, or  something like it. I loved our cat. I love my parents."

"Then  sure. I've felt love. Too bad the last time I tried to get close to  someone, it all got fucked up. Doesn't bode so well for the future, does  it?"

The timer dinged, and Cassandra pulled a tray of cookies  out. The kitchen filled up with the scent of butter and chocolate. She  set the tray down and popped another in. "I think... I think that a lot  of people, in general, judge a group of people by the worst among them.  And I think some symptoms are just scary, and people don't get enough  help or don't care enough to mind themselves, and it all just  snowballs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's not like professionals  have studied every single person on the planet. They're going off  reported cases and prison records. Maybe the people you're reading about  are just the worst of us. In any case, it doesn't mean you have to be  like them."

"You're not."

"No. Not quite." Cassandra  tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm lucky. I'm a privileged white  girl, so they just assume I'm a frigid, entitled bitch. Or an angry  feminist. If I'm careful, and I try to be good, that's all I'll ever be  to them. Annoying and self righteous and stuck up."

"Doesn't mean I've got a chance."

"Of  course you do. Evil is a choice, Campbell. So we have low empathy.  People don't need empathy to understand other people, or to be  compassionate towards them. We can still understand and choose to do  what is right. At the end of the day, all it comes down to are what  choices we make. We can decide the type of person we're going to be."

It was a nice thought, if nothing else. 

He didn't really want to change _everything_ about  himself. He kind of liked some of it, and since things went tits up  with Sam, Campbell had come to appreciate and embrace even some of the  messier, darker parts, too. But it was true enough. He could choose to  not burn his house down, he could choose not to steal, he could choose  not to kick dogs or pick on people more vulnerable than himself. Now  that he had some idea of what was going on and had Cassandra there to  help him, maybe it was worth it to try and follow her example a little.  He didn't care about trying to be someone he wasn't, and his peers  weren't going to forget his history at all, so there was no point there.  But keeping out of legal trouble, and keeping himself from turning into  some kind of animal that beat up his loved ones? That was something he  was keen on avoiding. If he knew what his risk factors were for the  future, maybe he could just be his natural asshole self without leaving  too much destruction in his wake.

In a world of small blessings, he had other people's  drama to keep himself entertained, without having to cause any of his  own. Harry and Cassandra ran for student body president, and it was a  vicious campaign on both sides. Naturally, Cassandra won. Harry was  charming enough, but he didn't have the cutthroat attitude needed to  secure a victory. Harry still had a party after, though considering the  turnout was crap despite the fact that his parents were out of town, it  could hardly be called a party. 

"Nobody wants to be here," Harry  groaned into his pillow after the last of the meager guests had left.  "I've lost it, Cam. I had it and I lost it."

Campbell chewed on a  slice of cold cheese pizza. "Pretty sure you never had it, buddy. I  think it was the alcohol and pot, there."

Harry let out a  strangled whine. He tried to hit Campbell with the pillow, but Campbell  caught it with his free hand and tugged it from Harry's grasp with ease.  "Fuck." Harry sat up and rubbed his face. "What am I supposed to do?  I'm a loser. Everyone hates me."

"I don't hate you. Kelly doesn't hate you."

"I'm still a loser."

"Don't  be boring." Campbell sighed. "Look, you've got parents who love you, a  gorgeous girlfriend, an expensive car, and you're not a leper or  anything. You've got it pretty good. Why worry about popularity? It's  all a bunch of bullshit, anyways."

"Because you've never felt  what it's like to have tons of friends and see it all slip away because  you're not drugging them up anymore. It's humiliating."

"Nah, you're right. I definitely don't know what it's like to lose people I thought loved me."

Harry  winced at the sharpness in Campbell's tone. "Shit, man. I'm sorry. I  didn't mean it like that. I just... You've always seemed so above it  all. I'm not like that."

"You used to be. What changed?"

"It's not worth talking about."

Campbell  gently whacked Harry with the pillow. "Tell me. C'mon, I never ask  otherwise, and you never share. Is it a girl problem?"

"My dad's dying."

The  words tumbled out of Harry's mouth in a rush. Campbell wanted to say  something, but Harry began to cry. Fuck. Reaching out, Campbell lightly  rested his hand on Harry's knee. Was that an acceptable level of comfort?  He didn't know, but apparently it was, because Harry leaned over and  burrowed against Campbell's side. 

"I just wanted to do something  important, so he could be proud of me," Harry sobbed into Campbell's  shoulder. "He's not gonna be around to see me get to college, and I  can't even manage this one fucking little thing."

"Hey. A lot of  colleges have early decision programs. I heard Cassandra talking about  it, with Yale. If you want, I can help you look into it."

Harry blinked up at him, and goddamn those doe eyes did it every time. "Really? You'd help me?"

"Sure. You want to go to Harvard, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, if I can pull it off."

"You can pull it off. Trust me."

Campbell  managed to steer the conversation towards college, and what they  planned to do after graduation. It was an easier subject for Campbell,  and Harry seemed to welcome the distraction. Harvard did in fact have  such a program, and he helped Harry gather together everything he  needed. Maybe Harry couldn't be president of the school, but it would be  more impressive to show his dad an admissions letter from one of the  top three universities in the country.

"What are you gonna do?" Harry asked. "I know you hate this town."

"I don't know. I figured I'd run away to LA or something."

"Seriously?"

"I  saved most of the money I got off of dealing. My parents never found  it, so why not? Just buy a one way ticket and figure things out when I  get there."

Harry gave him a rueful smile. "If anyone here could make it there, it'd be you."

But  they both knew it was just a silly dream. Of course Harry got into  Harvard; he'd gotten his letter late December, and Campbell knew he  couldn't move across country from his best friend. Campbell applied to  colleges in January, like most other students. He'd know his fate in six  to eight weeks. In the meantime, he balanced his attention between  Harry and Elle, the girl that had caught his attention before.

Elle  Tomkins was one of those rare people who wasn't born and raised in West  Ham, transplanted there in the 7th grade when her parents moved from  New York. Too young to get that "new interesting freshman" mystique, but  too old for the other kids to forget she hadn't always been there.  Campbell had never seen her with anyone. And she was quirky, from what  he knew. She didn't seem interested in hanging out with the other  students much, and she rarely smiled. He heard from Harry, who heard  from Kelly, that Elle was a dancer. It explained some things, like her  almost fragile appearance, and the fact that he'd never seen her eat  anything. Of course, not all dancers were tiny or thin or never ate, but  she fit the stereotype. 

He hadn't really considered dating  before, but now that he had some grasp on what was happening in his  head... Well, everyone else was pairing off, or flirting with some  out-of-town hottie. Hell, even Cassandra had some guy she'd gone out and  had coffee with when she went to scope out Yale. There were only five  months of high school left, and he'd spent his entire school life just  trying to survive and not get himself in trouble. Maybe it was possible  he could find someone, too. And maybe, if he was right about her, Elle  was a possibility. Even if it resulted in another friend, well, maybe  having another friend was something that could benefit them both.

But then Harry's father died, one cold morning. 

"All the money in the world," Harry seethed after the funeral, "and it still can't save you from stage four prostate cancer."

Campbell passed him a bit of weed that he'd gotten from one of his suppliers. "Shit luck. Most people survive prostate cancer."

"Yeah, well the dickbag never could be convenient."

He  couldn't blame Harry for being pissed. Harry's mother was a wreck,  diving into alcohol and pills herself in one of the most hypocritical  displays Campbell had ever seen. She was on the verge of losing her job,  the house was going to shit despite the fact that Harry tried to clean  when he didn't have school. The only reason Campbell knew was because he  started coming over to help Harry once a week. Which was, incidentally,  how he found the cocaine.

Campbell held up the little bag of white powder as he cleaned underneath the bathroom sink. "Uh, Harry? What's this?"

"It's mine." Harry reached for it, but Campbell pulled back. "Fuck, Cam. Give it to me."

"You're snorting cocaine now? Harry, you're going to Harvard soon. You can't afford to get hooked on this shit."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Yeah,  I get it. But I also got my ass back in line, for the most part, and  I'm not going to Harvard fucking Law School. Weed is one thing, alcohol  is one thing. But this will fuck you up fast, man."

"Just give it back, okay? I just need a little bit right now."

Campbell  stepped away again, as Harry tried to snag the drugs from Campbell's  hand. Before he could blink, Harry had tackled him to the ground and was  fighting for the bag. Campbell get punched across the jaw, but he  barely felt it. He managed to flip Harry onto his back, pinning him down  and holding him there while he struggled.

"Looks like you finally got me where you wanted me," Harry spat. "Asshole."

Campbell shrugged. "I actually prefer being on bottom."

"What, you actually turned fucking gay or something?"

"Bi, I think. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet. Would explain a few things, though."

Harry  stared up at him. At least he'd finally stopped wiggling. "Seriously?"  When Campbell raised an eyebrow, Harry let his head thump back against  the floor. "Huh. And I always thought you were joking."

"Were you?"

"I'm not gonna get my coke back, am I."

An evasion, but Campbell let it slide. "Nope. Not a chance in hell."

"I could get more."

"Sure,  but then I'm not helping you clean up your mother's grief-riddled  trauma hoard. Then you'll end up just like Lexie, trapped in your room  by a wall of Cosmopolitan magazines and yogurt containers full of cat  poop."

Harry let out a huff. "Whatever, fine. Get rid of it."

Campbell  pocketed the cocaine and took it with him when he left. Of course he  would get rid of it, in his own way. If he found the right buyer, he  could get an easy $300 off it. He didn't sell much anymore, but it was  an opportunity, and he wasn't going to pass that up. Especially since,  after eight weeks of waiting, all his application letters had been  rejected. No fancy school for him after graduation. Maybe he'd start a  band and movie to New York City instead, or go flip burgers for some  funky food truck in Boston, or buy a car with a rattling muffler and go  on a cross country road trip with Harry when he was on break. Whatever.  There was more to life than getting in debt for a slip of paper during a  shitty economy with few job prospects.

In the meantime, he could  still have a little fun. $300 was enough to get an ear piercing, and  have plenty left over. The left ear, just because it was easier to get  the damn thing in there; it wasn't any kind of statement. It was an  impulsive purchase, but it made him feel good, and he needed the  pick-me-up after all the college crap. Plus, it made his parents and  other adults give him disapproving looks. Always a bonus.

Cassandra  offered to help him apply to other schools. "You could still get into a  decent one," she said as she made a poster for the pro-immigration  rally coming up in March. "There are plenty of colleges near Yale that  would take you. Or maybe you'd wanna go to Massachusetts with Harry?"

"And  watch him drape all over his girlfriend every weekend? Gag me. No, I  think I'm gonna run away to India and learn how to grow tea or  something."

"Whatever suits your fancy. Are you coming to the rally with us? Gordie and some other friends are going."

Campbell  sprawled across the sofa, peering at her upside down. Any reason to go  past the West Ham town lines sounded like a good time. "Yeah, sure. Just  in case I need to punch some fucking neo nazis for you."

"Perfect."

As  things so often went, there were some little hiccups when it came time  for the rally. No one had told Campbell that Sam was coming with. They  all got piled into Gordie's truck, with Gordie, Becca, and Cassandra in  front, and Campbell stuffed into the back with everyone else.  Thankfully, Campbell managed to grab a window seat by saying he'd throw  up like a dog otherwise. Sam was next to him, with Allie on the other  side of Sam and Will at the driver side window. Less thankfully,  Campbell could see Allie shooting him glares and whispering something to  Will; he couldn't hear what was said, and he didn't really care, but it  was an annoyance all the same. 

"Do you have water?" Sam signed  to him. It was the first time they'd really spoken in a while, and of  course, it had to be to mother-hen him. "It's going to be warm out."

Campbell bit down his irritation long enough to reply with a curt 'yes'. Sam didn't speak to him for the rest of the car ride. 

It  was a bit less claustrophobic once they got to the rally. It wasn't  huge, and they managed to stake out a spot in the shade. It was still  too crowded for Campbell's liking, so he stuck to the little  headquarters they established, guarding the snacks and drinks while the  rest of them went out and got their protesting on. Becca came back  sooner than the others, a vague pink stain on her tshirt and a smug  smile on her face.

"What did you do?" Campbell asked as she  flopped down and popped open a soda. "I usually only have that face when  I've tripped Clark down the stairs."

Becca laughed. "Milkshakes are even better when you yeet them at an alt-right douchebag, as it turns out."

"Damn, I'm sorry I missed that."

"I'm kinda surprised you came at all. This isn't usually your scene, is it?"

"No.  I'm more of a stay at home and binge watch Riverdale sort, but  Cassandra wanted me to come with, and it's a few hours away from  Stepford Central."

"For sure." Becca eyed him. He knew that look,  that wary and curious sort of squint where someone was trying to figure  him out. "Are you going to Harry's party tomorrow night? I think he  finally got desperate enough to invite me, and my mom's got an  appointment with Two-Buck Chuck, so I thought I'd check it out."

Campbell  let out a small snort. "Yeah, I guess. He met some older folks when he  went up to Harvard in September, so he's inviting them and their  liquor."

"Ooh, anyone cute?"

"Like, guys?"

"Anyone," Becca grinned.

"Probably. Harry likes pretty people."

That  was how they ended up going to the party together. Campbell had never  really taken an interest in any of Cassandra's friends before, but he  knew Becca was Sam's best friend, and she seemed like the right mix of  sarcastic and broken that Campbell found relatable. Becca had never been  to a proper party before, so they stuck together at first; Harry was  off schmoozing with his new college buddies, Kelly smiling politely on  his arm, and that wasn't anything Campbell wanted to interrupt. Not until Becca vanished.

"Hey,  have you seen Becca?" Campbell wondered. "She went to get a drink about  ten, fifteen minutes ago and I haven't seen her since."

Harry glanced up from his pack of drinking buddies. "Nope, I haven't. Maybe you got ditched?"

It  was possible, Campbell reasoned. After all, he and Becca weren't  exactly friends, and they hadn't made some sort of blood pact to stay  together the whole night. Still, Campbell didn't know any of these  people and something in his stomach didn't sit right. He prowled around  the house, looking for some sign of her, but Becca wasn't downstairs at  all and Campbell felt his suspicion deepen as he headed upstairs. When  he finally found her, she was in one of the spare bedrooms, sitting on  the bed and staring into space.

"Becca?"

She looked over at him. Her eyes were glassy, vacant. "Campbell, where..." Her speech was lightly slurred. "Where'm I?"

Fuck.  Campbell moved slowly, coming over to her and kneeling down next to  her. Her hair was messy, her clothes askew. Fuck, shit. "Hey. You're at  Harry's party. What do you remember?"

"I don't... I don't feel good."

He  grabbed her a wastebin and held her hair back as she threw up. At some  point, she started to shake, and Campbell ran through the options.  First, he had to check to make sure she was breathing okay, check her  forehead with the back of his hand to see if she was clammy, check her  pulse. She was sweaty and her pulse seemed a little slow, but maybe he  could just drive her to the hospital himself.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked. "I need to get you to a doctor."

Becca shook her head and moaned. "No, no, no. I don't wanna."

"Becca, if someone attacked you..."

"He  didn't. He didn't, I wanted to. I really wanted to, but then everything  got fuzzy and I don't... I don't even remember what he looked like."  She began to cry, hard. "I just wanna go home."

Campbell frowned.  If she had been raped, she needed to see someone. Didn't they test for  DNA and shit? But he wasn't going to further traumatize her by trying to  force her into an emergency room to get prodded at. Not when she was  still drugged. "Alright. Do you want me to take you home?"

She  nodded, leaning against him as he curled an arm around her and helped  her to the stairs. Harry gave them a quizzical look as they made their  way to the door, but Campbell just shook his head and Harry backed off.  It was a longer walk to Becca's home, but they made it without too many  stumbles. Becca's mother was passed out in the living room, so Campbell  just steered Becca towards the room she pointed at. 

Propping her  up with pillow, Campbell tucked Becca into bed, but wasn't sure what to  do after. Someone needed to stay with her for a few hours, make sure  she didn't throw up and choke on it. "Do you want me to call Sam?"

"Don't."  Becca huddled under her blankets, looking pale and miserable. Her voice  was still weak and muffled. "Can you... can you stay for a bit?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Campbell  sat on the floor next to Becca's bed, watching videos on his phone with  the sound muted. Becca drifted in and out of sleep, and every so often  she'd cry again, but she didn't throw up and she managed to keep down  the glass of water Campbell brought her. Four hours later, and Becca  seemed to be pulling out of it; her heart rate was better when Campbell  rechecked, and her speech was clearer. 

"Must not have been a big  dose," Campbell muttered. Sick fucking assholes. "I think you're going  to be alright from here, if you want me to go."

"I feel better. Thank you for helping me."

It  would have been easy to just nod and walk out, but he knew she'd just  been hurt. Badly. She was probably in shock. Even if she still didn't  want to go to the hospital, he had to try a little before he  just left here there. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Becca  chewed her lip. For a moment, Campbell thought she'd reconsider, but she  shook her head and forced a watery smile. "I just want to get some  sleep." The smile faltered as her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't  even know what happened."

"I'm pretty sure you got slipped GHB. That's not your fault, Becca."

She just stared down at her hands. "Can you not tell anyone about this? For now? Maybe... I need to think."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

Campbell  picked up Becca's phone, adding his number into the contact list. "When  you wake up tomorrow, if you need anything or want me to take you  somewhere, or get you something, text me. Okay?"

"Okay."

And  that was that. Campbell headed home, his mind racing as he tried to  figure out what to do next. He couldn't tell Sam, and he couldn't tell  Harry. Not yet, not without Becca's permission. Was it someone they  knew? One of those leering frat boys Harry invited in? What if they gave  Becca HIV or something? There was nothing he could do, not without  betraying whatever thin amount of trust or friendship there was between  them. All he could do was go home and wait. 

What the hell was  wrong with their town? Sam, getting a weird infection that took his  hearing. Cassandra, with her heart problem and them both having strange  brain wiring, cancer that just suddenly appeared and killed a man,  hoarding and drugs and alcohol and, and, and... It seemed like it was  just a never ending bunch of bullshit. What, was the town built on some  kind of goddamn burial ground or something? He used to find people's  petty dramas amusing, but looking back, things had always been just one  rotten thing after another.

Campbell stood outside his home,  gazing towards the door. It was past one in the morning, and he could  see the light on in the living room. Maybe he could just... not come  home at all. Shaking his head, he walked up the steps and opened the  door. His parents were there, waiting. He didn't even try to speak  first, or explain.

"Where have you been?" his mother snapped. "It's almost two!"

"Sorry. A friend of mine got sick and I had to make sure they were okay."

His father crossed his arms. "You're supposed to called. Who was this friend? Where are their parents?"

"Are you gonna ground me, or what? Because it's been a really bad night and I kinda wanna just go to bed."

"Apologize properly, and we'll think about it."

Campbell closed his eyes a moment, taking a slow breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't call. It won't happen again." _You fucking creeps._ "May I go upstairs now?"

"Fine. Go."

No  need to be told twice. Campbell headed to his room and took a long  shower, rinsing the smell of booze and smoke off him; if his parents had  noticed, they had chosen not to bring it up. Yet. A small miracle,  maybe. By the time he crawled into bed, he could barely keep his eyes  open. He'd figure out what to do in the morning. It  was April. Three months until graduation. After that, the town poison  wouldn't be his worry anymore.

With luck, until then, things wouldn't get worse. 


	5. Chapter 5

Then again, they do say that things get worse before they get better.

For  whatever reason, Becca stopped talking to Campbell. He tried to text  her to see if she was alright, but his number was blocked. He tried to  talk to her, but she kept on walking. It would have been all too easy to  get pissed off over it, but he shrugged and carried on with life.  Perhaps she was embarrassed, or ashamed. Perhaps she wanted to pretend  it never happened. Maybe it had been a really bad high. Who knew? But  she wanted nothing to do with him, either way, and he didn't waste his  time on people that obviously wanted him gone. Caring cost too much  energy for that.

The end of the school year play was an adaptation of the film _Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead_.  Cassandra, of course, decided to try out. It was more surprising that  Harry tried out, too. Naturally, they both got the lead roles. And why  wouldn't they? Cassandra had always been an amazing actress, and now  that Harry had cleaned up his image to make himself the cute  goody-two-shoes co-captain of the debate team in order to be more  appealing to Kelly, it made sense that he'd charm his way in. 

Campbell  didn't need to worry about that. He got recruited to help with the set,  and that was fine. It was something to pass the time, as always, and  Elle was often there to help with choreography. It was a nice, long  distraction. By the time rehearsals were over, they had two weeks left  until prom and three until graduation; it was so close to being over  that Campbell could taste it, and damn it was good. The play itself  would shave one week off, and everyone would be too busy going bananas  over prom that they wouldn't have time for much idle gossip.

Perfect.

Or,  at least, it would have been perfect. Just before the opening night of  the play, something began to smell. Literally. Campbell was hanging out  with a few of the drama club kids he'd met through the play, the five of  them sharing a few orders of fries after a long day of getting the  stage ready for the big event. They were on their way out when Campbell  caught a whiff of what smelled like rotting flesh. He gagged, covering  his nose with his sleeve, and soon the other teen were coughing as well.

"What  the fuck is that?" demanded Elaine, a chunky girl with bright pink  hair, ripped jeans, and an MCR shirt. "Jesus christ, Henry, I told you  not to go for the chili fries."

Henry, a scrawny blond, made a noise of complaint. "It's not me!"

"The  wind is coming from the northeast," Campbell interrupted as everyone  began to blame each other. "It's probably in the wood somewhere. A sewer  leak or something."

Everyone quieted down and agreed, but the  smell only got worse and worse as the evening went on. The next morning,  Campbell and Sam came downstairs to find their living room filled up  with people. Their parents, Harry's mother, Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jim, a  few other influential members of town... and in front of them all,  their other uncle, Rogers. Frequently heard blustering on about some  damn thing, usually something racist, he wasn't anyone Campbell had any  desire to be around. But there he was, shouting about the smell and what  to do about it.

Campbell tuned it all out and made breakfast for  himself, slipping out the door and heading to school before he was  noticed. The smell was, in fact, terrible. Students were whispering  theories to each other all day. Campbell heard that the smell was a dead  whale washed up on the coast and the wind was carrying the smell, that  it was a terrorist attack, that it was ghosts coming to haunt the town  for some misdeed, it was meth gone wrong... But in the end, there were  no answers. Just a constant, unyielding reek that seemed to be coming  from everywhere.

At the very least, the first night of the play  went off without a hitch. Even if it smelled like a dead skunk basted  with cow farts outside, Cassandra and Harry were beautiful, witty, and  gave a flawless performance. No one really payed attention to the fact  that there was a town meeting among the adults the next day; Campbell  overheard his mother talking to his father about it, and how Uncle  Rogers had contacted some guy named Pfeiffer to get rid of the smell.

Campbell  flopped on Harry's bed as Harry dug around his closet for a suit to  wear to prom. "Who the hell has a job in smell removal? Is that a  thing?"

"Don't know, and who cares? As long as I can go back to  eating without everything tasting faintly like septic tank, that's all I  care about."

Whatever the Pfeiffer guy was about, the day after  the town meeting, the smell did vanish as quickly as it had come. For  short time, things went back to normal. Campbell stayed home-- you've  seen one night in a play, you've seen them all, in his opinion-- to cook  mushroom carbonara while everyone else was out. If nothing else, he  knew how to make a good pan of noodles, and it gave him time to think  about asking Elle to prom. A sort of asinine affair, something he and  Cassandra agreed on, but it was the last big thing of high school. Maybe  it was worth a shot.

On the last night of the play, the smell  returned. It was even worse than before, so strong that it stung their  eyes and made some of the younger kids choke; the adults called yet  another emergency meeting, and this time, it was decided that the EPA  would be contacted. Until then, all students 16 and over would be sent  away on a camping trip until the smell was removed. An exciting prospect  in Campbell's mind, considering his family had never been camping his  whole life. A whole weekend in the middle of nowhere? Roasting  marshmallows, hiking, swimming, freaking Allie out with spooky stories?  Cool.

"Mom and dad wanted to know if you got your toothbrush,"  Sam signed as they stood on the school lawn, everyone waiting for the  buses to pick them up. "Did you?"

"Tell them to get fucked."

Sam  stared. Campbell forced a cheerful smile and headed off to go wait  elsewhere. He was standing at the curb when he heard someone  approaching; he turned his head, ready to tell Sam to leave him alone,  when Campbell realized it was Grizz heading his way. He was pale, his  gait fast and jaw tight as he glanced around. Huh. Weird. The football  player never really seemed nervous about much.

"Hey Campbell," Grizz greeted. "I have a question for you."

"I'm flattered, but I'm already asking someone to prom."

Narrowing his eyes, Grizz glared at him. "Hey. No, it's... Did you tag the wall of the church last night?"

"What?" Campbell blinked. "I'm no fan of Christianity, but no. I didn't tag the church with anything. Why?"

"Just wondering. There's some creepy Bible quote on one of the outside walls. Just thought maybe you'd know something about it."

"Someone's probably just dicking with us, man."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

There  wasn't much time to debate it. Cassandra and her gaggle joined them at  the curb, all of them eagerly chattering at Grizz, who seemed to be the  group Boy Scout and everyone wanted camping advice. Five school buses  pulled up soon after, and everyone began to pile on. One of the few  places left on the bus was next to Elle; she had a look on her face that  was positively icy, but he decided to take the chance anyways.

Campbell rested his hand on the seat and nodded to the empty space next to her. "Hey, I'm Campbell. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Elle glanced up at him. She didn't smile, didn't speak, but she shrugged a little and moved over enough to make room. 

"Excited for the trip?"

"Not especially. I prefer indoor plumbing. You?"

"I don't know. It might be an adventure."

"An adventure, huh? From what I hear, you make plenty of your own excitement."

"Oh? Where'd you hear that?"

"I just pay attention."

Campbell  leaned a little closer. She didn't flinch away, but she was watching  him with a cautious intensity he hadn't seen from many others before.  "It's too bad we've been going to school together all this time, and  never really talked, don't you think?"

"What is there for us to talk about?"

"Dance, maybe. How many years did you do ballet before you moved here?"

"You know about that?"

"I pay attention, too."

That earned him the tiniest of smirks. "Okay, smartass. What else do you know about me?"

"Your  family moved here from New York when you were about twelve. You tried  to make friends with Lexie and her goon squad, but they ignored you and  ever since then you've kinda just been alone. You spend most of your  time reading, or playing the piano."

"Piano."

"Junior  year, we had math together and Gelstein let us listen to music during  tests." Campbell placed his fingers on the back of the seat in front of  him, moving them along like he was tapping on invisible keys. "You'd  move your fingers along to the music, but you thought no one noticed  because you sat in the back."

"Ohh, you've got a good eye. Yeah, I can play the piano. But I feel like that's cheating a little. You sat right next to me." 

"That's true. I also know that you eat all the green M&Ms first, and that is not something I found out sitting next to you."

Elle leaned back and arched her eyebrows. "You know, some people might considered that level of observation a little creepy."

"Do you think it is?"

"I don't know yet."

"Think you'll know in time for prom?"

"Well, how about this." She was smiling now, and the corners of her eyes crinkled a little. "Ask me when this trip is over."

A  fair enough deal. They spent the rest of the morning discussing music,  art, and entertainment; Campbell had to stop and let Elle ramble from  time to time, though he noticed she did the same and wondered if it was  for the same reason. He wasn't used to talking, to the point where he  was getting winded. They had similar enough tastes, as far as modern  music was concerned, and a similar view on politics. He liked modern  dance, while she liked the more traditional forms, but it was still a  shared interest. 

They continued talking until the sun set and  the bus fell silent, with students falling asleep as the bus ride  continued well into the night. Elle slumped over near midnight, resting  her head on his shoulder. She yawned, content. "This is fun. How come  we've never talked before?"

"I don't know." Campbell allowed her  to nestle close. He wanted to stroke her hair, but he kept his hands to  himself. He didn't want to scare her by being too much, too fast. "I  guess I was scared to approach you."

"Why?"

"Because you're pretty, and I'm trouble."

Ella closed her eyes, voice muffled as she drifted off to sleep. "Maybe I'm trouble, too."

Cute,  but it was hard to imagine. Not because she was a girl or because she  was small-- he'd seen a 4'11" girl take down a two hundred and fifty  pound football player with one well aimed kick to the dick-- but because  he'd never heard a single bad word about her from anyone who mattered.  Well, who knew. Maybe she had a rap sheet from back home in New York.  Campbell smiled a little, falling asleep himself soon after.

He  had no clue how much time had passed when the school bus jerked to a  halt. He stirred, blinking as the lights on the bus flickered back on.  Everyone was murmuring, trying to figure out what was going on. Were  they there? It was supposed to be a twelve hour ride, including breaks  along the way, but they had left at three in the evening and the time on  his phone said it was only a little past one in the morning.

"Change of plans," the bus driver said. His tone was flat. Bored. "Rock slides. The road is closed. You're back home."

The  murmurs turned into sounds of disbelief. Campbell stood as the bus  doors opened, making his way out along with everyone else. He stopped on  the school lawn, and stared out into the darkness; there was no one  there, no one besides the other students, and the weird smell was gone.  It couldn't have been fixed that fast. The useless government never did  anything fast, and it hadn't even been a full day yet. 

"The fuck," he muttered as the buses all pulled away and left. "What is this?"

Ella stood next to him, frowning. "Strange. That's what."

Everyone  began texting, calling. Campbell tried his father's number, knowing Sam  was probably going to call their mother. It rang, and didn't stop  ringing. No answer. No voicemail, even. He glanced around. He could see  the worry and panic on everyone else as they seemed to be reaching  similar results. No one was answering. Something was obviously wrong.  With the smell gone, he wondered if it really had been a gas leak, and  now everyone was fucking dead. Only one way to know for sure.

Plastering  a smile on his face, Campbell looked to Sam and shrugged like it was no  big deal. Make it seem like everything was fine. No need to freak out  and start some kind of mass riot. "Well, I'm going home."

Sam  grabbed his arm. His eyes were wide, and he was obviously at that freak  out point already. "You're not going to wait for me?" he whispered, not  bothering to even sign.

Campbell made a quick sign. "Hurry up, then."

He  kept walking, and soon enough he heard footsteps trailing behind him.  They walked in silence for a bit, before Sam signed to him. "Where do  you think our parents are?"

"Home. Asleep."

"Do you think that's all?"

"Yeah." Campbell didn't believe it for a second, but Sam didn't need to know that right then. "Probably."

When  they made it home, the cars were still there. All the lights were out  inside. Campbell went in first, calling out to their parents, but there  was no answer. Campbell and Sam exchanged a look; Sam's lips pursed,  knowing without any words passing between them what the look meant. They  were alone. Campbell searched downstairs, then headed upstairs. He  didn't even care that Sam was right on his heels. It meant that they  could both confirm at the same time that they were, in fact, alone in  the house. 

"No note," Sam said. "No message on the phone. Where could they be?"

Campbell  frowned. He didn't have a damn clue what to tell his brother, but then  their phones both began to blow up. Campbell looked at his, hoping for  the first time in forever that it was their parents, but it was Harry.  His mother was gone. Kelly's parents, too. No one could reach anyone,  and their data was all knocked out. 

_Probably from the storm_ , Campbell texted back.

 _Yeah_ , Harry answered, _and did the storm take all our parents too?_

A  good question. Suddenly he had texts from Elle and Cassandra, even  Allie, asking where he and Sam were and could they find anyone.  Cassandra finally texted for the two of them to meet her and everyone  else back at the school. ASAP. 

"Are you gonna go?" Sam asked. 

It  wasn't even really worth thinking about. Of course he was going to go,  if only so he could get some idea of where things were heading. People  were gonna start wigging out, and Campbell knew history well enough to  know that a bunch of teenagers alone and afraid never meant anything  good. And maybe someone, somewhere, had actually found something.  Campbell nodded to Sam, and they both headed out to meet with Cassandra.  

By the time they got to the school, a crowd had formed. Not  everyone, and mostly seniors, but enough for Campbell to know it'd get  ugly if the impromptu meeting didn't go well. Elle was there; she came  over and stood at his side, one arm crossed in front of her chest and  the other tangled up in her hair, her bottom lip pouting out a little.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then someone else-- one of the  football players, loud and brash-- yelled out.

"Who decided we needed a flash mob?"

Cassandra stepped out of the shadows. She stood on the other side of Campbell, pulling herself tall. "I did."

"What the fuck, Cassandra?"

"Better  than 200 people sending texts. Has anyone been able to reach anyone?"  she asked. The crowd was either silent, or mumbled a negative. "No one?  Okay. Well, there's... there's definitely a simple explanation."

A voice Campbell didn't recognize yelled out. "Like what?"

"Um.  They, uh." Cassandra glanced at Campbell. He said nothing, hell, he  didn't even move; if anyone thought he was influencing her, they'd never  listen. "They were evacuated, after we left. And there was a  miscommunication, and we were brought back here by mistake."

"Someone would still answer a phone," Kelly pointed out.

"Maybe  they're asleep. I don't know, maybe they some place with no reception.  They're in a shelter with... with no reception, or something. In the morning, someone will answer a phone."

Goddamn  it. Cassandra, cool and collected Cassandra, was losing it. Standing  this close to her, Campbell could tell that she was shaking. Not much,  but enough that Campbell felt a spark of worry. They were supposed to be  the reasonable ones. Cassandra was valedictorian, disliked and  unpopular but vocal and well-known in their senior class. If Cassandra  lost it, the rest wouldn't be far behind.

"Maybe it's not safe for us to be here, if they all left."

"A  couple hours isn't gonna make a difference. We'll figure this all out  in the morning. Right now, we should just... uh, go home. Yeah, we  should go home. And anyone who doesn't want to, uh, be alone can come  back to our house. Right?"

Allie smiled when Cassandra looked to her. "Sure."

"Is that your advice, Cassandra?"

It  had to be Harry that challenged her. Campbell cursed under his breath,  and resisted the urge to strangle him. Cassandra and Harry always had  been rivals, butting heads over everything and fighting for power at  every turn, with Cassandra usually emerging victorious. But what about  now, when people were scared and tensions were climbing?   

"Yeah. Yeah, Harry, yeah, just go to sleep."

Harry  rolled his eyes, but people began to disperse. Well, some people. The  majority stayed put, hovering around closer to Harry and the jock  brigade; they were whispering about the local liquor store, and Campbell  took the moment to sidle over to Cassandra while everyone else seemed  distracted.

"Do you honestly believe any of that?" he wondered, lowering his voice.

Cassandra  shook her head. She took a breath, but it was already all too clear  that she was out of her depth. "I have to, right now. It won't do any  good tonight to think about it too much. We need to all go home, get  some rest, and see what tomorrow brings."

"You know as well as I  do that if we don't start preparing for the worst now, tomorrow it's  gonna hit and this whole place is gonna go all Lord of the Flies."

"What the hell do you think happened?"

"Cassie, haven't you noticed anything else, besides our missing families?"

"The smell." 

"Yeah, the smell. How are you gonna explain that to them? Or did the smell go to a shelter with no reception, too?"

Biting  her lip, Cassandra looked at the crowd gathering around Harry. Before  she could say anything else, Allie came prancing up, a cheeky smile on  her face. "Cassandra. Campbell." His name was said like it was something  disgusting, and her smile hardened just a bit. "I guess the guys are  planning to raid the liquor store and have a party. Coming?"

"Really?" Cassandra sighed. "No way. I'm going to head home and try to figure this out. Please don't burn anything down."

Allie  grinned and made her way back to her friends. Cassandra, Gordie, and  their friend Bean headed off towards home. Campbell knew it'd be for the  best to just leave, but he could see that Sam was staying, and Elle was  watching him expectantly. Harry was waving them both over, and Campbell  sighed. Might as well. Despite how bizarre it all was, the idea of not  having to race home by ten and play Good And Normal Son with his parents  was appealing.

"What was that about?" Elle asked. Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. "With you and Cassandra?"

"Oh, just cousin bickering. How about this party, huh?"

It  started as just a bunch of them hanging out on the front yard of the  church, with beers getting passed around. Campbell and Elle camped out  in a quieter corner, each with their own drink. But within fifteen  minutes, Clark had discovered that the church doors were open. It seemed  wrong. So, so very wrong. That's what made it fun. Campbell smirked as  people texted their friends, brought more liquor, and rigged up some  music. The air was just vibrating with bass and the cheers of about a  hundred drunk, high teenagers. It was blasphemous, and oh, they were all loving it.

"Can  you imagine the looks on their faces?" Campbell laughed with Elle as he  downed another cup of alcohol. "Those stuck up fucks would piss  themselves."

Elle answered, but her voice was muffled. Far away.  His vision was dimmer around the edges and he felt good; he grabbed Elle  by the hand and led her out to where people were dancing. Harry's  shitty little pity parties had never appealed to him much, and certainly  not the stiff swaying back and forth of school dances with their  parent-approved music, but this? This was something new, different. They  could do anything and they weren't going to get caught. Not yet. The cats were away, and they were all a bunch of fucking rats  ready to play.

At least, that's what Campbell thought, but after  people started pouring beers off the second story, Elle retreated into  an empty stairway. Campbell followed. A bad idea, in hindsight, but  they'd been having a good time. Hadn't they? She had tucked herself into  a corner, wiping beer off her skin and wringing it from her hair;  Campbell stepped closer, smiling.

"I don't know, I think you look kinda hot this way."

Elle didn't look at him. "Yeah, well, I don't really care what anyone else thinks right now."

"Hey.  Why are you spoiling all the fun?" Campbell asked. She didn't say  anything, just giving him an irritated look. "Is it like a ballerina  thing? Act all cold? Is that..."

Without a word, she tried to  push past him. Campbell grabbed her arm, but she spun around and fixed  him with a glare. "Seriously?"

Campbell blinked. He didn't know  exactly what was happening, but she was angry, and he let go of her arm.  She kept walking, heading towards the exit. He sighed, mumbling under  his breath so she wouldn't hear. "Your loss."

Everything after  that was mostly a very long blur, ending in a wall of black. Not  something he'd done in a while, getting completely wasted, and not  something he was eager to repeat when he woke up the next morning with a  throbbing headache. Light hurt, sound hurt. The worst part was that he  just barely remembered what happened with Elle. 

"Shit," he groaned as his phone blasted him with full brightness. Still, he managed to tap out a text to her. _I'm sorry about last night. I'm an asshole and I was drunk. Forgive me?_ "Send."

It  was the best he could do at that second. Campbell dragged himself out  of bed, stumbling downstairs where Sam was making breakfast. Sam glanced  at him, flipping some bacon. Campbell wanted to gag at the smell, but  there was a small stack of toasted Eggo waffles on the counter, and he  snagged one of those.

"No parents," Sam signed. "No calls or anything."

Campbell  just waved his hand and sunk his face into his arm. He figured. There  hadn't been any furious screaming about the state of the church, after  all. Sam sat down at the table, and Campbell raised his head enough to  watch him for a moment. Now that he was sober, he was back to being able  to read people. He could see on Sam's face that Sam was scared. He kept  eyeing Campbell, then looking away, and shifting like his body just  didn't want to sit still. His body was turned away. Closed off.  Insecure. He didn't like being alone with Campbell. 

Well, who did anymore, really?

His phone buzzed. He hoped it was Elle, but it was from Harry. Campbell tapped on the notification, and stared at the text. _Get to the bridge. NOW._

Sam's phone went off next. "Becca wants me at the bridge outside of town."

 _Please_ , a second text read. _I'm scared._

Harry  had never said that, not in all the years they'd been friends. Campbell  stuffed another waffle in his mouth, and threw on his flannel shirt.  "Let's go."

It took almost twenty minutes to jog there. Sam kept  up, thankfully. Campbell wasn't about to wait around when Harry was  reduced to begging. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his stomach  more than ever. The closer he got, the more he could see there was a  small crowd formed. Cassandra, Allie, Becca, Will. Gordie, Bean, Kelly.  Luke, Clark, Grizz, Harry. Helena. Sam went to his friends, who were  sitting by the railing of the bridge; Campbell went to Harry, who was  crowded around his far with the jocks and Helena.

"What's going on?" Campbell hissed, pulling Harry off to the side. "You look ready to pass the fuck out."

Harry  just pointed. Campbell followed the line of sight. Trees. Trees had  completely demolished the train tracks leading out of town. They just...  ended. Campbell went to turn back to Harry, and noticed the same thing  had happened to the road, too. He rubbed his eyes; maybe he was still  drunk, or someone had slipped him something. But no. It was like a wall  of forest. 

Harry spoke, only just audible. "It's like that the  whole way around." He was breathing faster, his voice trembling faintly.  "We tried the internet, Bean tried to call 911. Nothing. There's no one  out there. We're trapped."

Campbell reached out, resting his  hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry leaned into the touch ever so slightly.  Adults and the younger kids, gone. The smell, gone. A natural barrier,  cutting them off from every escape route, and they were-- for the  moment-- alone. How? He couldn't fathom, but how didn't  exactly matter at the moment. What mattered was that this was reality.  Somehow, some way, they were going to have to survive it.

They were worse than trapped.

They were completely, truly, screwed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and all your kudos and comments! <3 I am so grateful. 
> 
> This is the end of part one, but as this is a series, the story continues in [part two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016229). Chapters will be posted a few days early on [my tumblr](https://wroughtbetwixtfanfic.tumblr.com/), if you wanna check that out! :D Thank you again for reading. Hope to see y'all over on the next part.


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